


Duel

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-06
Updated: 2000-11-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 22:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11135598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Duel

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

**Duel**

by 

necessary  
angel

  


Notes  
Rating: NC17 for boy on boy  
interaction  
No spoilers, this is a different universe, another time  
and different names.  
This is an extract from a Regency AU I have  
been dabbling with ... I mean writing for  
months. I don't think  
this will make the final cut of that story, as it doesn't advance the  
plot.  
So I thought I would share the scraps from the cutting room  
floor, it works as a stand-alone snippet, I think.  
Inspiration courtesy  
of Paul Gross in *that* costume at Stratford and I never could resist  
shiny, sharp objects.  


My thanks to Megan for fine beta and commentary.  


Feedback: Yes please to 

necessary angel  


* * *

  
I follow Caverdale's gleaming Hessians as we make our way up the narrow stairs, to where   
the master of this domain gives tuition to a privileged few. Caverdale is moving at an eager   
pace, clearly anxious to gain his revenge for our last bout. He pauses in his ascent, to allow   
me to catch up with him, just past the rattle and thud that marks the main atelier - even at   
this early hour the academy is busy.

&quotThe new receipt did the trick I see.&quot I observe as I draw level with him, gesturing towards   
his boots. 

He leans against the wall, lifting one leg and turning it so that the leather gleams in the slats   
of sunlight from the narrow windows. &quotYour man is a genius, Radley.&quot He runs a critical gaze   
over the rest of his costume, flicking a minute speck from the dark blue sleeve of his coat. 

I note the flash of champagne, self-striped satin beneath his coat with relief. Caverdale's   
choice of waistcoats ventures too often towards the garish for my taste. The simple cut of his   
coat is, also, something of a pleasant change. Caverdale is too broad in the shoulder, to   
indulge in the current mode for more raffish attire with any success, and, thankfully, it seems   
that he has abandoned his recent experiments with the Incroyable.

&quotHe isn't he? That doesn't mean you can attempt to lure him away from my service.&quot I fix him   
with the most severe look I can muster, but he fails to look remotely cowed.

I move past him, and resume the climb up to the stairs to the attic without waiting for a   
response. He gives a short bark of laughter, and clatters up the stairs behind me. As I reach   
the top of the staircase, the tintinnabulation of metal on metal filters through the doorway to   
the sunlit attic.

I stop just outside the door, holding up my hand. &quotIt seems that D'Amelio hasn't quite   
finished with his previous vic... lesson. I told you we needn't have hurried our breakfast.&quot

&quotOr perhaps it is that Ware is proving somewhat of a challenge.&quot Caverdale's voice rumbles in   
my ear as he peers through the doorway. 

I'm helpless to stop the smile that ignites at the mention of Ware's name. Perhaps it was   
worth giving into Caverdale's cajoling to allow him to redress the balance in our on-going   
fencing tournament, and accompany him to his session with D'Amelio.

I can feel Caverdale watching me, and I look up at him. He smirks. I glare, and he chuckles. I   
shake my head, but I'm not really exasperated. That man is just.... Caverdale nods towards   
the doorway and I lift a hand in acknowledgement.

We enter the room as quietly as possible, not wishing to distract either of the two men   
wielding the glittering rapiers in the centre of the long room. We needn't have concerned   
ourselves; both men are intent on their battle. I position myself where I can take best   
advantage of Ware's application to the task at hand, and settle in to indulge in watching.

Ware, unusually, is stripped to his shirt, breeches - beautifully tailored, the man has excellent   
taste in tailors despite his disdain for the niceties of fashion, - and boots for the fight.   
However Ware *had* removed his waistcoat the morning he duelled with Thornton, despite   
the dawn chill. It is clearly a habit, one that allows him a great deal of freedom of movement,   
but watching him dressed like that, even in the relative privacy of the studio, is still   
disconcertingly intimate. I close my eyes but that makes my wayward thoughts even more   
distracting. A soft shout of triumph turns my attention back to the fencing. Ware has   
successfully fended off D'Amelio's latest attack.

Ware is, now, throwing himself into attacking and parrying. The silver flash of his blade as he   
turns and weaves around the room is mesmerizing. He is using his lithe agility well; his sword   
whips and whistles as he moves. The two men are unexpectedly well matched; both are   
much of a height and weight, yet Ware's aggressive and unconventional swordplay is making   
up for his lesser skill.

&quotOh, bravo.&quot I mutter, as the shielded tip of Ware's weapon makes its way through D'Amelio's   
well-honed defence and taps against his chest.

Caverdale looks up from his preparations for his own lesson. &quotWhat about a small wager?&quot

&quotWhy not! Double or quits on what I took off you last night? I'd say Ware can pull this off.&quot

&quotThat's hardly a small bet, but as you're willing to be so profligate, I'll take it. Such   
foolishness should meet its just reward; David D'Amelio is the best fencing master in Town.&quot 

He laughs quietly and smirks. I have to smile in return. He is quite right, D'Amelio is by far   
the better swordsman. However, I have every confidence in Ware's ability to defy the odds.

Ware and D'Amelio are both breathing heavily; the slap of their feet on the wooden floor and   
the occasional grunt and curse run counterpoint to the ring and scrape of their swords. Both   
men must be tiring, but D'Amelio appears to have the advantage there; he still seems fresh   
and unruffled. In contrast, Ware's shirt is sticking to his back and his fair, unpowdered hair is   
escaping from its bond at the nape of his neck, adhering to the layer of sweat on his angular   
face.

Oh God. 

I lick my suddenly dry lips. I try to distract myself by changing my position, without   
losing my vantage point, but it is of little use in calming me. Thankfully, I retained my   
greatcoat in my anxiety to concentrate on watching the bout, despite the warmth in the high,   
beamed room. Ware can propel me to hunger so quickly. I push my tongue against the back   
of my front teeth, imagining the resilience of the other man's skin.

&quotAnother hit, by Jove.&quot Caverdale is frowning as he watches Ware manouevre D'Amelio into   
giving ground

Ware's teeth are bared in a snarl as he steps up his attack, pushing all his weight behind   
each blow of his sword. It seems to be all that D'Amelio can do to stave off the aggressive   
assault, his wrist bent back at an impossible angle. Both men are still now, their blades   
straining against each other, and then Ware's spins to the floor with a loud clatter.

I watch as D'Amelio slings an arm around Ware's shoulders. It is impossible to hear what he   
might be saying, despite the almost eerie silence in the room. I am walking towards them   
before I can check myself.

&quotAh, Milord Radley. It is a long time since we have had the pleasure of your company here.   
You have come to join Monsieur Caverdale?&quot

&quotMonsieur.&quot I bow slightly to the fencing master, forcing myself not to look at Ware. &quotI...&quot 

&quotRadley, just the man.&quot Ware shrugs himself free of D'Amelio's arm and steps forward,   
eagerly. &quotAre you engaged for the next few hours?&quot

&quotWare. An excellent match; my commiserations. As it happens, I am at your disposal.&quot I raise   
my voice slightly so that Caverdale can hear. &quotI had planned to join Caverdale, but I'm sure   
he can dispense with my company.&quot

&quotOf course.&quot I am very careful not to meet Caverdale's gaze as he joins us.

&quotThat's settled then.&quot Ware retrieves his rapier and takes his leave with a bow. &quotMonsieur.   
Caverdale.&quot

* * *

&quotI am not at home, Jenkins, to callers; even the Regent himself.&quot Ware flings his greatcoat at   
the footman, and, without pausing for the murmured acknowledgement, heads through a   
door on the right of the wide hallway.

I shed my greatcoat, hat and cane before following him. I barely make it through the door   
before Ware pounces, pushing me back against the heavy wood of the door as it closes.

I hear the key turn, and then Ware's mouth is on me, his tongue searching my mouth. Ware   
puts his whole body behind the kiss, his welcome weight pressing against me. I meet the   
challenge and kiss back firmly, my tongue parrying Ware's slick attack. Ware's hips shift, and   
there - I can feel the heavy confined length of Ware's erection pressing against my hip. I   
groan and shift until Ware's thigh is hard between my own and I barely have to move my   
hips to get the contact I crave. Need. Have needed ever since I walked into D'Amelio's studio.

Ware steps back from the kiss, leaning in to lick along the line of my jaw, his hands on my   
cravat, and then down onto my coat, he swiftly and ruthlessly strips me down to skin. Cool   
air tightens my skin. One heartbeat, two, and the layer of air between us disappears. Warm   
weight of muscle and bone pressing against me. Faint tang of citrus overlying sweat and the   
deeper smell that is Ware's own. Rasp of fine linen against my chest. I push and tug at his   
shirt, but he is too close for me to bare much of his skin. 

Lick, along my throat. A soft puff of breath. My skin prickles. Sharp scrape of teeth on sensitised skin,   
and I shiver, my hips thrusting into thin air. It isn't enough. I reach forward, one hand tangling in Ware's  
wayward damp hair and tug hard.

&quotBastard.&quot But Ware allows himself to be pulled closer into a kiss. Slower, smoother and   
deeper, but that isn't enough either, and I bite down hard on Ware's full lower lip. Ware   
shudders as I trace the mark I made with my tongue and the kiss turns wild. We stumble   
further into the room, sinking to our knees on the fine rug. 

My hands are shaking but they are still functioning well enough to strip Ware's shirt from   
him. I have cause to be grateful yet again for this man's disregard for the normal   
conventions; as Ware only flung his greatcoat on over his shirt instead of dressing after the   
match, there is only one layer to be dealt with before I reach Ware's skin. 

Salty, still-slick skin.

My teeth on Ware's collarbone earn me a groan and a squeeze of long fingers around the still   
confined flesh of my insistent erection. I move into that tantalising, too-light touch and   
Ware's clever fingers shift away, dealing with the buttons on my breeches. There. Skin on   
skin. One stroke. Two.

&quotThat's good.&quot Ware's voice is husky and shaking.

&quotOh, God.&quot

I push back, moving away from Ware, and fumble my way out of the rest of my clothes. I   
dare not touch Ware or have his hands on me. Struggling with the removal of my boots and   
breeches takes the edge off my arousal.

When I look up from my task, Ware's long back is sloping away from me as he deals with the   
ties on his own breeches. The bunch and motion of the muscles under all that pale skin   
makes my hands tingle. 

I swallow and pull Ware's shoulders, propelling the other man down on to his back. 

&quotOof. Lunatic.&quot

I grin and pin Ware beneath me. The sweaty scent of Ware's skin hits me again, and I have   
to taste. Ware pulls my head down, urging me into the kiss. The faint piquancy of blood on   
Ware's lip releases the growl that has been building in my throat since this started.

Ware breaks the kiss with one last lick to the roof of my mouth. &quotWait. Wait.&quot He wriggles   
and squirms and somehow removes his breeches. &quotThat's it.&quot

&quotIndeed.&quot I bend in for another harsh wild kiss. I can feel the hard, hot length of Ware's   
erection against my belly. My cock twitches and I shift, my hips rolling and pressing, the slick   
friction shaking heat up through my spine into the base of my skull.

Ware picks up my rhythm, spreading his legs wider, his hands curving over my buttocks,   
pulling me in closer and closer until we find the angle and pressure we need. My hands are   
brutally tight on Ware's hips but I need that. We both need that.

&quotSweet. So good.&quot Ware's words are no more than breath against my face. 

Oh God. I gasp something, beyond words. We are moving faster now; every inch of my skin   
is raw and my focus narrows until I know nothing but Ware's frantic movements beneath me.

Nothing but rhythm, warmth and skin.

Nothing but the thrumming of the blood in my veins and Ware's skin next to mine. Ware's   
cock brushing the over-tight heat of my own. Nothing but... 

Ware's fingers dig into the curve of my buttocks and that pushes completion, thick and heavy   
through every part of me, and I am coming, shaking and trembling. Ware pushes up, thrusting sharply,   
before his back arches and he is coming, with a quiet groan, against the slick skin of my stomach.

Some time later, Ware shifts and stirs, pushing himself out from underneath me. I collect   
myself enough to find some words, as Ware settles back down on the rug next to me. 

&quotYou fought well today. Could I interest you in a bout with me?&quot  


Ware laughs quietly and leans in to gnaw lightly at my shoulder. &quotWhen ever you wish.&quot

End.

Additional notes  
  


Manners and conventions in Regency  
society were such that men rarely  
removed anything other than their  
outer overcoats or greatcoats and their coats (frock or  
morning  
coats) in company even while boxing, fencing, dancing or even gambling.  
To see  
another man's shirtsleeves would have been very unusual.  
Men also took a great deal of  
interest in clothes and other aspects  
of fashion. Style and appearance were very important  
during this  
period and men's fashions often outdid women's in terms of extravagance  
and  
detail.  
End  
  
Fiction  
Home  



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